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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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AKER LOYE STORY 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



MRRIR ¥. JONES, 



CHICAGO ; 

J, L. REGAN & CO , PRINTERS 

!885- 



^-, 7. t 5" I 



7^j^ 



^1 



Copyright by 

MARIA W. JONES. 

1885. 



TO MY SISTER FRANCES, 
WHO FIRST SUGGESTED, THEN INSISTED, 
THEN PERSISTED THAT I SHOULD PUBLISH THIS 
LITTLE VOLUME, IT IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED, WITH THE COM- 
FORTABLE ASSURANCE THAT IF IT PROVE A FAIL- 
URE, I SHALL HIDE BEHIND HER MY 
DIMINISHED HEAD. 



(5) 



dorifer^l'il). 



Pkelude -.._...„ii 

A Quaker Love Story ------ 13 

My Riches --.----. 33 

A Vision -------_ 35 

What Dost Thou Fear? ---. = . 37 

Enough --.--.-_ 33 

OoMMONPiiACE -------- 39 

Waiting -------- 41 

The Cherry Festival of Hamburg - - . - 44 

Carrie ----=._, 43 

For Others' Sake ----.-. 50 

King Water - - - - - - -53 

Beyond the Hills -----_. 56 

Love - - - ^ - „ . 59 

In Embryo ---- = -_- 61 

Edith -..._,._ 63 

In Memoriam --.».--- 65 

The Message of the Snow - - . = - 67 

Cui Bono ?---_-. ^ . 69 

A Friend, Married in April ----- 73 

Lines Written on Birch Bark to a Friend - - - 74 

SOHHETS. 

Paradise Regained ------- 76 

Onward to the Sea ------ 77 

To A Friend in England upon Her Wedding-Day - - 78 

To M. H. P. - - 79 

To a Pansy - - - - - - - - 80 

(7) 



Rofe 



The followiiig Quaker Love Story, told first by the hero- 
ine nearly sixty years ago, and now retold in verse, has, I 
fear, little to recommend it but its simplicity and truthful- 
ness; ''A certain sweet New Testament plainness"' — to bor- 
row one of Charles Lamb's inimitable expressions — having 
always been a distinguishing characteristic of the Friends. 

The greater number of the remaining poems have already 

appeared in The Scribner, Century, Current, Independent, 

Christian Union, Weekly Magazine, and other publications 

of the day. 

"What is writ is writ; 
Would it were worthier." 

M. W. J. 

Chicago, 9th mo., 1885. 

(9) 



p refuel 



e. 



The dear old twilight stories 
I heard at mother's knee 

Still float, in echoed sweetness, 
Down through the years to me. 

And still, as then, seems better 
And dearer than the rest, 

A quaint ancestral story — 
One mother loved the best — 

Of a sweet Quaker maiden, 
Who, in one far spring day, 

Rode off to do God's errand. 
And lost her heart away. 



(11) 



R QUAKER LOYE STORY 



OF THE OLDEN TIME. 



1. 

A ND so my dear, thou fain wouldst hear about my girl- 
-^ ^ hood days, 

And my long ride with Tacy Gray across rough mountain 

ways. 
To-day I've thought it over, as I went about my tasks, 
And I believe it will be right to grant thee what thou asks. 

2. 

For it may be a strength to thee, to know how I was led 
Through all these years along life's path, and gently shep- 
herded. 
I have not yet forgotten how, in my earliest youth, 
By mother's side in meeting, I felt tenderings of Truth. 

13 



14 A QUAKER LOVE STOKY. 

3. 

By the solemn silence quickened, the conscious tear would 

start ; 
And now and then a trembling sigh, from some contrited 

heart, 
Would rise and beat its viewless wings a moment 'gainst the 

air, 
And emphasize the stillness, as an amen does a prayer. 

4. 

If. when a Friend was moved to speak, the Word with power 

came, 
I felt it search my little heart like penetrating flame. 
Again, like dew upon the grass, the Spirit's precious dole 
Fell on the tender leaves of faith unfolding in my soul. 

5. 

But yet the world attracted me, and, as I grew in years, 
My plain dress was a cross I bore with some rebellious tears. 
It seems strange now, in looking back, what weight the out- 
ward had. 
And how I tried to compromise betwixt the good and bad. 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 15 



6. 



But compromises only feed the tempted heart's unrest. 

A clear renunciation ends the struggle, and is best. 

The Lord helped me to see it so, and gave me sweet 

release. 
And then, I wore our garb, and yet was clothed upon with 

peace. 

7. 

I think it was soon after that, when I was twenty-three, 

It was borne in on my mind that the Master called for 

me 
To go as a companion for our dear friend Tacy Gray 
To Virginia Yearly Meeting, and the meetings there 

away. 

8. 

We started in the spring-time, one early Fifth-month morn, 
A dewy freshness filled the air, the world seemed newly 

born, — 
The birds like joys embodied went floating in the sheen, 
Or sang amid brown twigs outlined in mists of tender 

green. 



16 A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 

9. 

And I remember now, as if it Avere but yesterday, 

How quickly joyous Nature brushed my farewell tears 

away. 
Ah, when we are at peace within, the heart will lightly 

rise 
Like a free bird, and earth will seem the long lost paradise. 

10. 

There were no public coaches went across the mountains 

then — 
For this Avas twenty years ago, in eighteen hundred ten — 
And the usual way of travel was by horseback in that 

day. 
And even now it seems to me 'tis the ideal way. 

11. 

I can come so near to nature, for my horse finds all paths 

free; 
Between him and his rider is so close a sympathy, 
That the sinewy, swift motion which to him belongs 

alone, 
Gives me a sense of freest strength as if it were my own. 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 17 

12. 

Just at the last Friend David Gray concluded not to go; 
He could not see his way quite clear, but Jabez Shillito — 
A kind of inexperienced man — was going part our way, 
Whom father thought would be no use, but I heard mother 

say, 

13. 

"Nay, William! like the effigy thou in thy field didst 

set, 
I really think the man will do; for people are not yet 
Much wiser than the birds, — we often say: 'There some 

man goes ;' 
When, after all, the creature owes his sole importance to his 

clothes." 

14. 

It was a goodly distance — four hundred miles or more — 
For two women upon horseback ; but the Holy Spirit bore 
Us company and comfort, and we never had a fear ; 
Our greatest dangers are the ones that lurk within, my 

dear. 

2 



18 A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 

15. 

I had never seen the mountains; and now, when from some 

steep, 
I saw, e'en to the sky's pale brim, the circling, billowy sweep 
Of verdant fields, and forests — now shadowed and now 

bright — ■ 
Earth's glory broke upon me in a flood of deep delight. 

IG. 

We stopped at night at any house near which we chanced to 
be. 

At wayside inn, or farmer's home, and Tacy, frequently. 

Was shown the state of some dear souls which were in bond- 
age led ; 

And, faithful to the inwaid voice, she left them comforted. 

17. 

One evening near our journey's end (we had been ten days 

out). 
We queried with a colored man, upon the road, about 
Our way. We hoped to find some Friends residing in that 

part, — 
For Friends, though strangers in the flesh, are always friends 

in heart. 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 19 

18. 

" Down clis road liy'ar, aboot a mile, lives Massa Clark," he 
said; 

"And down dat lane, aboot de same, lives Massa Ben White- 
head. 

Dey's bof yous kind of people, 'taint no diffaence, I s'pose, 

Which way you takes; for heaps of Friends to bof der 
houses goes." 

19. 

We say: "This way or that? It does not matter which we 

name." 
Lightly we choose, and lo! our lives are nevermore the same! 
But they who take the Spirit for their Comforter and Guide 
May rest content, for, soon or late, they shall be satisfied. 

20. 

Tacy a moment waited for the inward "yea" or "nay," 
Then, turning down the lane, she said: "Come, dear, we go 

this way.'' 
We found our host a bachelor, with servants quite rdone; 
Then, I wondered if dear Tacy had indeed been rightly 

shown ! 



20 A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 

21. 

Next day we went to Wain Oak, where the Meeting was 

to be, 
A Friend took Tacy in his gig; our host lode off by me! 
And somehow after that, all through the Yearly Meeting 

week. 
When he spoke to me, 'twas as if, a friend from home did 

speak. 

22. 

It came to pass that Friends arranged when Yearly Meeting 

closed, 
That he, as he had time and was seriously disposed, 
Should attend with us the meetings belonging to our sect. 
And visit scattered families as Best Wisdom might direct. 

23. 

Of course, Benjamin rode mostly along by Tacy's side, 

And I, a silent listener, was content, and edified 

To hear them talk of Early Friends — how clear their call, 

and sure, 
To come out from the world, and be separate and pure. 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 21 

24. 

And Tacy thought that in our day the call was still the same ; 
She tenderly admonished us, in the dear Master's name. 
To keep ourselves unspotted from the world; take up the 

cross 
And follow Him, count all men brothers, and Time's glory 

dross. 

25. 

And, dear, I feel to counsel thee, as she did us two then, 
To read George Fox's journal through ; there thou wilt find 

why men 
Were once constrained to think the vcrUij of Quaker Fox 
Was more than the strong oaths of men who haled him to 

the stocks. 

20. 
In stocks, in prison, stoned and scofl'ed, our Early Fidends 

stood true ; 
They spoke the word, they did the deed God gave to them 

to do. 
And Cromwell said, when he had looked upon George Fox's 

face, 
"Now is a people risen, not won by gift nor place." 



22 A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 

27. 

Thus ran our talk, by field and stream, as we went on our 

way, 
But lapsing into silence at the far end of the day ; 
Or, Avhen we entered some pine wood, where each tall, dusky 

tree 
Stood like a grave, black cowled monk, whisp'ring — Eternity. 

28. 
Sometimes, when it would happen so that Benjamin would 

ride. 
In all the goings to and fro, a brief time at my side, 
I was half scared and half ashamed the moment he had gone; 
For, like a child which thinks aloud, I feared my tongue ran 

on. 

29. 
I think though that our thoughts unfold more freely in the 

air, 
Where birds and trees, and bloom and bees, their sweets 

together share. 
'Tis nature's way! do life with her keeps to itself apart; 
And so I shared the thoughts which then kept budding in 

my heart. 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 23 

30. 

Those long rides and the meeting hours were times of deep 

content. 
The cross I bore when leaving home was gone ; but how it 

went, 
Or why 'twas gone, I neither asked myself nor understood, 
I only knew it never seemed so easy to be good. 

31. 

But, dear, take heed! when our lines fall into a pleasant place, 
It is not always safe to think that 'tis God's precious 

grace 
Within our hearts, which mellows them and makes them 

glad and kind ; 
For, mayhap, we, when trouble comes, our old hard hearts 

shall find. 

32. 

One day at Black Creek Meeting, when Benjamin had led 
Our horses up, as usual, for us "to mount," he said, 
While looking up at Tacy — it was well he turned from 

me — 
" I find that I must say farewell, and here part company."' 



24 A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 

33. 

I heard no more — my heart stood still — the earth swam in 

eclipse ; 
Though when at last he came to me, I said, with steady 

lips, 
Some farewell words, then rode away — I would not have 

him know 
How, like a ship in sudden storm, my heart reeled to and fro. 

34 

But after that, while Ave remained among Virginia Friends, 
I listened as one listens when the hungry heart attends. 
For some news dropped of Benjamin, some talk of his 

intent; 
But all in vain! I heard no word of why or where he 

went. 

33. 

The next week Tacy's husband came, and in a few weeks more 
We to Ohio all returned, and Tacy truly bore 
The sheaves of Peace, but I — I bore a heart of sad unrest. 
Though still the Spirit whispered, ''The Lord knows what 
is best." 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 25 

36. 

Autumn had come ere we went back. On hill and mountain 

side 
Nature had built her altar fires ; the trees stood glorified 
In unconsuming wondrous flame, like unto sunset dyes, 
And morning mists rose up from them as incense to the 

skies. 

37. 

Yet sadness like a sombre vail lay spread o'er everything, 
I thought it was the difference between the Fall and 

Spring ; 
But, dear, the difference was in me — the vail was on my eyes ; 
The earth was just as beautiful and just as glad the skies. 

38. 

'" Elizabeth," said father, in the evening after tea — 

That first home-coming night when they left mother, him 

and me. 
To have a little talk alone — '^\ friend of thine was here — 
A friend from Old Yirginia, Elizabeth, my dear, — " 



26 A QUAKEll LOVE STORY. 

89. 

Spoke mother, breaking in, for mother had her views 

Of what was right in keeping back the best of any news. 

"I reckon tliou canst guess his name " Avith slow speech fa- 
ther said. 

Then mother spoke right out: " My child, 'twas Benjamin 
Whitehead!^' 

40. 

And once again my heart stood still, then loudly on it went, 

I almost thought they'd hear it beat, and wonder what it 
meant, 

"He seems a w^ell-concerned young man," said father, talk- 
ing on. 

And then I faltered out: ''Thou saidst he had been here, 
and gone?" 

41. 

"Yes," father made reply, " he has gone on about some land." 

" William," coaxed mother, reaching out her kind, persua- 
sive hand, 

"Thou art too slow!" "He asked our leave. Elizabeth, my 
dear. 

To speak to thee, and child," she said, " Fifth-day he will be 
here." 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 27 

42. 

And so he came, and all was well ; my dear, what didst thou 
say ? 

yes! he found at Black Creek, in the meeting that last day, 
That all his heart was turned to me. hut then he could not 

say 
One word without my parents' leave ; for that he went away. 

43. 

We handed our intentions into meeting the next spring, 
And Avere married in the Fifth month. Dear Tacy's offering 
Of fervent prayer, when we had said the words that made 

us one. 
Fell sweetly on our wedded hearts, like holy benison. 

44. 

1 little thought, when I came home, that I so soon should 

ride 
Across those same rough mountain ways, by Benjamin's own 

side. 
God's purposes are hid with Him, and silently they grow 
Until wdiat perfect time He wills we too shall see and 

know. 



28 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 



45. 

Before we went, the way seemed clear for Benjamin to buy 
This farm right next to father's, and together he and I 
This lofty site chose for our home, and named it Prospect 

Hill; 
We thought it then earth's fairest spot, and, dear, we think 

so still. 




PROSPECT HILIi. 



A QFAKEll LOVE STORY. 29 

40. 

I do not mean there really is no other spot so fair; 

But when we sauntered arm in arm, a neAvly-wedded paij-. 

Through the long lane up to our farm, in evening's sunset 

glow. 
And watched the shadows slowly creep up from the vale 

below, 



47. 



And saw upon the Tillage hill the sunlit windows shine, 
I think no hearts were happier than Benjamin's and mine. 
It was the happy inner glow, as well as that without — 
That sweet, syllabic sound of '' ou7^s,'' I haven't any 
doubt, 



48. 



Which made it then, and makes it now to us the place most 

fair : 
We relatively judge such things, but we must have a care. 
In intercourse with others, about the words we use ; 
For language is a precious gift that suffers much abuse. 



30 



A QUAKER LOVE STORY. 



49. 

There's Benjamin just coming in; I hear him at the door: 
I wish that thou wouldst see about — but wait, this one thing 

more 
I want to add, while on my mind, for nothing is more sure: 
Truth is the salt of character which keeps it sweet and pure. 



©f]^ep f 



©err) 



s. 



MY RICHES. 33 



MY BICHES. 

GEAY as the day. and poor and cold 
Seemed life to me; my tears dropped down, 
Blurring from sight the garment old 
That lay nnpatched the while I told 

My grieving heart how Fortune's frown 
Grew darker still. To others came 
Beauty and wealth, dear love and fame; 
But I — I had my torn old gown. 

I said — and wept more bitterly — 

I might as well be stricken blind, 
If there is naught all day to see 
But four bare walls staring at me. 

Blank as my life. O, fate, unkind! 
So prodigal of gifts to some, 
Shall gracious beauty never come 

In shape or tint, my home to find? 
3 



34 



MY RICHES. 



Like a rebuke from God, there came 

A sunbeam to my small, bare room, 
And held my gaze in its pure flame 
Till rebel thought and fretful blame 

In it seemed slowly to consume . 
At peace once more, I raised my eyes, 
And saw that in the western skies 

The cold gray day had burst in bloom. 

I watched its sunset flower grow 

From matchless bud to matchless rose; 
Then saw new glory overflow 
And drown the rose in brighter glow 

Of golden light, and still disclose 
New loveliness of shape and hue, 
AVhich, ever as I gazed, updrew 

My heart to heights of sweet repose. 

Riches and beauty for the world! 

I cried. Thou unlost Paradise! 
Changing from bloom to isles impearled 
In golden seas, to flags unfurled 



M\ RICHES. 

O'er domes and minarets that rise 
From jeweled walls, then disappear 
Lost, in a fire-fringed sapphire mere, 

Where white and weird a great ship lies. 

God surely meant no life should be 
All bare of beauty — wondrous sky! 

When, in His love, endowing thee 

AVith richest grace of land and sea. 
He gave thee place to overlie 

All life. So mine! I am not poor; 

For thy gold falls upon my fioor, 

Thv priceless pictuies chnrm my eye. 



35 



B6 A VISION. 



A VISIOK 

A LOVELY being, sweet and fair, 
Lips parted, as in blessing, 
A briglit'ning halo round her hair. 
Hands outstretched for caressing. 

And night by night her glad wise eyes 
Foreshine their nearer glory 

With glimpse and gleam of Paradise, 
And grand prophetic story. 

But morn by morn I w^ake to find 

The old unlifted sorrow. 
And just as far away the kind, 

Dear vision — called To-morrow. 



WHAT DOST THOU FEAR? 37 



WHAT DOST THOU FEAR? 

'^TJtc 2Corhh ihc flesh, and the devil:' 

WHAT dost thou fear, O coward heart, 
That thou dost tremble so? 
Though thunderbolts are hurled 

At thee, dost thou not know 
That God Himself doth take thy part 
Against a stormv world? 

Why long for rest, O weary heart? 

Though care and pain and strife 
Hinder and mar the mesh 

Thou weavest of thy life : 
Yet God Himself doth take thy part 

Ao-ainst rebellious flesh. 

O, why despair, thou doubting heart? 

God put thee here! No right 
Hast thou to moan— ^' At length, 

Adversely goes the fights 
For God Himself doth take thy part 

Against the devil's strength. 



38 ENOUGH. 



EKOUGH. 

FEOM a cleft in a rock a harebell grew, 
And gathered of rain, and sunshine, and dew, 
Its measure of life, in its cup of blue. 

In a cabin, out in a western wild. 

A maiden bent over her work, and smiled — 

For the old, old story her heart beguiled. 

The world is wide; but a bit of its earth. 
In the cleft of the rock, gave beauty birth 
And nourishment meet for its own sweet worth. 

The world is wide! but the maiden well knew 
No heart in it all was more fond and true 
Than the one that her troth was plighted to. 



COMMONPLACE. 39 



COMMONPLACE. 

r^NCE I heard a dandelion say — 
^^ Some folks hear, in a curious way, 

Voices mute to others — 
"Dandelions are so commonplace, 
Without any special gift or grace, 

What's the use of blooming? 

" Could I only be a tube rose sweet, 
Life indeed Avould offer something meet 

For my best endeavor. 
But a dandelion! Dear, O dear! 
I have yearnings for another sphere 

Not so rcrij common."' 

Hardly had she ceased her mournful plaint, 
Huno^ her head, with fjrief and chaofrin faint, 

When some children spied her. 
And in chorus all began to shout: 
"The dandelions are coming out; 

The dear dandelions.'' 



40 COMMONPLACE. 

Later on, a poet of sweet note 
Smiled upon her, and a poem wrote, 

Calling dandelions 
The bright gold which Spring, with lavish hand, 
Scatters broadcast over all the land 

For dear little people. 

"It were better," wrote he, "to forego 
All the stately flowers that may blow 

In conservatories 
Than that little children should e'er miss 
Largess full and golden, such as this — 

Spring time's dandelions.'" 

It were better, thought I, to forego 
All the wonders that the saraus know. 

Than life's lowly duties. 
Thus I took the lesson to my heart. 
Glad, once more, to do my simple part 

'Mongst the commonplaces. 



WAITING. 41 



WAITING. 

STEEPED in sunshine, bathed in dew, 
Year by year, the strange plant * grew, 
But no grace of flower knew. 

Seeing it a zealot said, 

Hotly shaking his young }iead, 

'* AYithout works one is as dead." 

Did it start impatient then. 

Try to break its bands of green 

With the life which throbbed between ? 

Nay! it seemed but as before, 
Though it may have more and more 
Life's sweet pain have pondered o'er. 



Many years had come and passed, 
And the plant, still bloomless, cast 
Broader shadows. But, at last, 



* The Contury Plant. 



42 WAITING. 

One fair morning, going by. 
Some one looked, and, with a cry, 
Called the people far and nigh. 

For, from out the circling green 
There uprose a wondrous sheen, 
Bud and bloom did overlean 

The broad leaves, and climb so high, 
All their beauty none could spy, 
Save the tender, smiling sky. 

"*Tis a tree of soft, pale flame, 
Greenly whorled," said one who came, 
Trying vainly thus to name 

Such unwonted loveliness. 

In their prodigal excess. 

Bud and bloom seemed numberless. 

But the zealot humbly said, 
Bowing low his hoary head: 
" Lo! it teaches in my stead. 



WAITING. 48 



" Now I know that soul is great, 
Which, aware of its estate, 
Nobly is content to wait. 

''As for me. O foolish man! 
I have learned that no one can 
Sit in judgment on God's plan. 

•• When 'tis time for deed or flower, 

He alone can strike the hour 

From the heights of His watch-tower." 



44 THE CHERRY FESTIVAL OF HAMBURG. 



THE CHERBY FESTIVAL OF HAMBURG. 

T T AKD by the walls of Hamburg town, 
^ ^ Four centuries ago, 
Procopius his soldiers led 

To fight their German foe. 
The blue sky bent above the earth 

In benediction mute, 
The traijquil fields reposed content 

In blossom, grain, and fruit. 

But vain the ^'bcncdfciic^^ 

Of tender brooding sky, 
And vain, the peaceful, smiling fields 

Gave eloquent reply. 
Unsoothed! unmoved! in nature's calm, 

The Hussite army lay, 
A threatening, deadly, Imnum storm. 

With Hamburg in its way. 



THE CHERRY FESTIVAL OF HAMBURG^ 45 

To swift destruction now seemed doomed 

The dear old German town. 
Before Procopins the Great 

The strongest walls went doAvn. 
But, hark! what means this muffled sound 

Of swift advancing feet? 
Was Hamburg ready after all 

Its hated foe to meet? 

The Hussites quickly sprang to arms! 

The great gate opened wide: 
And out there poured, not armed men, 

But, marching side by side, 
Camo little children of the town. 

Whose round eyes met their gaze 
With innocence that courage was 

Unlearned in worldly Avays. 

The men threw all their weapons down 

At sight so strange and fair! 
They took the children in their arms. 

They smoothed their flaxen hair; 



46 THE CHERRY FESTIVAL OF HAMBURG. 

They kissed their cheeks and sweet red lips, 
They told how, back at home, 

They left such little ones as they, 
And then they bade them come 

To cherry orchards, close at hand, 

And there they stripped the trees 
Of branches rich with clustered fruit. 

Their little arms with these 
They filled, and with kind words of peace, 

They sent them back to town, 
And all the soldiers marched away, 

Nor thought of their renown. 

And now, each year in cherry time 

In Hamburg, one may see 
The little children celebrate 

This strange sweet victory. 
Again the tramp of little feet 

Is heard, as side by side 
They march all through the quaint old town 

In childhood's joyous pride. 



THE CHERRY FESTIVAL OF HAMBURG 47 

Again, within their arms they bear 

Green branches, through whose leaves 
Eipe cherries gleam, and tell a tale 

More strange than fancy weaves, 
About a bloodless battle fought 

Four hundred years ago. 
When children saved old Hamburg town 

By conquering its foe. 



48 CAimiE . 




A WINSOME little girl, 
As pure as milk-wliite pearl, 

As sweet as fragrant rose, 
As blitlie as bird that knows 

Only to soar and sing, 
On swift ecstatic wing. 

So glad of life — of love — 
Of snnny sky above, 

Of all these things, so glad! 
Can she be ever sad? 



CARRIE. 

Ah, yes ! so sad is she 
O'er broken wing of bee, 

O'er homeless dog or cat, 
Or any creature that 

God made and man forgets 
To care for, that she sets 

Me wondering how He, 
More pitiful than she, 

Endures so patiently 
Man's inhumanity. 



49 



50 FOR others' sake. 



FOR OTHERS' SAKE. 

' Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow The Christ — els 
wherefore born?''— Idyls of the King. 

A KOUND-Kiiig Artliur's table came 

^ ^ Brave, stalwart men, who, soon or late. 

Won for themselves a famous name. 

And climbed up to a knight's estate. 
And each one sought some maiden's smile. 

Her "favor" on his helmet wore, 
On deeds of errantry — the while 

She praised and loved him more and more. 

And poet's idyls, new and old. 

Cease not to tell the wondrous tale. 
How these good knights, so true and bold, 

Kode forth to make some tyrant quail. 
In his stronghold; for ladies fair 

Risked life and limb, and thought no deed 
Too hard for them to do or dare. 

Could they but win the hero's meed. 



FOR 0THEK."5 SAKE. 51 

O, grand the story of brave deed. 

And sweet the guerdon bravely won; 
So brave, so sweet, that as we read, 

Electric currents swiftly run 
From noble lives of ages past, 

And thrill our hearts, until we fain 
Would live as they, as they at last, 

Such love, such praise, such honor gain. 

Nor are there wanting men of might. 

Nor Avrongs to tilt a free lance for ; 
Nor now need maidens, out of sight. 

Wait weeping till the battle's o'er. 
Some cycles nearer has earth rolled 

To the eternities, whose light 
On it more broadly falls. Behold! 

God^s truths shine out in clearer sight. 

And now has gentle woman found 

To do is finer than to b(\ 
That our King at whose ''Table Round" 

There sitteth '^ neither bond nor free, 



i^?=^ 



54 KING WATEK. 

Anon he flings over the sun 

Such curtains of mist that not one 

Tiny ray can creep through, and run 

To earth with its light. 
Fiery flames, too, own his command, 
They leap up! but cannot withstand 
The weight of his cool, mighty hand — 

They sink out of sight. 

The earth with its harvests is crowned. 
The great wheels of labor go round. 
The mills' golden grain heaps are ground 

By help from his throne. 
The traveler is sped on his quest 
By a steed that needeth no rest; 
For this king hath breathed in his breast 

The life of his own. 

His voice in the cataract's roar. 
In the waves that break on the shore, 
Proclaims in our ears evermore 
His glorious might. 



KING WATER. 55 

And, again, in the musical flow 
Of the brook, 'tis silv'ry and low 
As the laugh of a child when we know 
It laughs with delight. 

But another has set up his throne 
In the land this king calls his own, 
And by deeds dark and evil has grown 

Kincr Alcohol's fame. 
He makes of earth's fruit and its grain 
A poison that maddens the brain — 
His subjects seek honor in vain. 

They only find shame. 

But lo! he now trembles, afraid 

Of the nations whose trust he's betrayed. 

Whose homes he has desolate made — 

And fain would he bring 
Peace offerings of money — but no! 
A voice like the cataracts flow 
Shall thunder: "The tyrant must go, 

For Water is King.'' 



56 BEYOND THE HILLS. 



BEYOHD THE HILLS. 

•^ T WISH that I could go away," sighed Claire, 
-■' Leaning a pensive face upon her hand. 
And looking off with wistful eyes, where fair 
And far, the hills shut in the quiet land 
Whereon her gaze had fallen every day 
Since her young life began. " I've half a mind," 
She said, "that I will start and run away — 
Like boys do in the story books — and find 
What lies beyond those far-off w^atchful hills." 

" I almost feel that I am rooted here 
As are the trees within our door-yard small. 
They can do naught but stand there year by year, 
Until at last they, gnarled and bent, shall fall 
As I shall some day on my wrinkled face — 
Still looking toward the hills, and old and gaunt, 
Still standing in the same familiar place. 



BEYOND THE HILLS. 57 

I cannot bear it, mother dear, I want 

To go — I must go — off beyond the hills." 

"And do the trees indeed stand still, my dear?" 

Queried the patient mother. " Do they not grow 

A little nearer the blue sky each year? 

Do not their spreading branches ever throw 

A little broader shadow in the sun, 

To shelter man and insect, bird and beast "^ 

Of all the gracious leafy trees, which one 

Has not a better thought, for you at least. 

Than wayward flight beyond the untried hills?" 

" Well, I have heard," said Claire, with a slow smile, 

Still gazing at the hills, ^'that there will come 

In time — whether one waits upon an isle 

Amid the ocean waves or sits at home — 

The thing that one above all else desires. 

The heart is its own oracle of fate, 

The inborn need its prophecy inspires, 

And mine to me has whispered, ' Soon or late, 

Thou shalt go forth beyond the circling hills.' " 



58 BEYOND THE HILLS. 



Not late, but soon! O grievous, dread surprise, 
When sobbing friends beheld sweet Claire depart: 
Not as she oft had dreamed, but with her eyes 
Fast closed in death. Upon her pulseless heart 
And smiling lips, death's solemn secret seal. 
" She never had her wish," grieved they with tears, 
" How strange it seems that the dear Lord should deal 
So sternly with the child. In all these years 
She longed in vain to go beyond the hills." 

" She lias her wish," the gray-haired pastor said, 

" She has gone forth beyond the barring hills, 

Not w4th slow feet, a beaten path to tread: 

But with swift wdngs to bear her where she wills. 

AYhat matters it if life's periphery 

Be small or great? What traveler now so wise 

As this young girl, who sees eternity — 

Sees God Himself with her clear angel eyes! 

While we are still environed by the hills." 



LOVE. 59 



LOVE. 

TTfE'VE all had our lovers; some constant, some not- 
^ ' Tlioiigli each vowed to us everlasting affection — 
Some left us in anger; some only forgot, 

And some were dispatched by a simple rejection. 

But these people — Ah these! love on without end, 

Eegardless of failings of flesh or of temper. 
More constant than lover, more loving than friend, 
Though all others fail, they are fidelcs semper. 

They pour out our love for our commonest use. 
Unmindful of circumstance, care, or requiting; 

If smitten on one cheek, they condone the abuse. 
And turn us the other for kissing or smiting. 

Ah! when was a lover's love ever like this? 

Enduring all things, still hoping, believing. 
Depending on neither a smile nor a kiss. 

Lavish in giving, e'en if little receiving. 



60 LOVE. 

No others — not even ourselves — with such zest 
Hear sounded our praises, nor think us so clever; 

They hold as better than other folks best — 

God bless these dear fathers and mothers forever! 



IN EMBRYO. "^ 



IH EMBRYO. 



TO E. B. 



w 



HAT was life to the moth in its chrysalid thrall? 

Did it wake "twixt its dreamings and ask: "Is this all"'! 
Did it thnll to the tips of its embryo wings 
With an impulse for flight born of bright visionings 
Flashing by in the wildering maze of a dream. 
Then lost as the cloud loses the lightning's swift gleam? 

Did the light filter through its soft, silken cocoon 

And strike its closed eyes with a vague sense of that boon- 

The power of sight? Did the ambient air break 

Softly in waves o'er its walls and bid it awake 

And pierce through the strange silence and darkness around 

To a beautiful world full of sunlight and sound? 

Did it struggle against its invisible chain 

Till it grew almost mad with the longing and pain? 



62 ' • IN EMBRYO. 

I know not. But I know that a hand, never seen. 
Cut its bonds all away with strokes subtle and keen, 
And one day it came forth from its close prison cell, 
Free! strong-winged and clear-eyed! Thus at last it befell 
That the great sunlit world, which had once seemed so strange, 
This rejoicing, freed creature had now for its range. 



My dear friend, dost thou guess what my thought is for thee ? 

Does the strain of thy soul reveal captivity? 

Dost thou know thy own self, in relation to life. 

As only a something with a something at strife? 

Does the silence but echo thy wild questionings? 

The Divine life within thee is stirring its wings. 

Abide! Thy strong soul grows large for its shell, 
And some glad blessed day, the same bliss which befell 
The beautiful moth shall happen to thee, 
And thou, too, slialt know what it is to be free; 
What sight is, what life is, and heaven — yea, more — 
When thy wings vail thy face as thou bowest before 
The Creator of life, life's Kedeemer and Guide, 
Thou shalt know what it is to be aye satisfied. 



EDITH. 63 



EDITH. 

7th MO. 3, 1880. 

ONLY a year since she entered 
Our goodly and beautiful land, 
AYliere at once she set up her kingdom, 
At once besran her command. 



'& 



With smiles and tears she has conquered 
Her royal will knows no excuse : 

She has no reason for doubting 

That the world was made for her use. 

She snares us all by her dimples; 

She enchants us all by her eyes: 
She seemeth a pure white lily 

Sweetly blooming in human guise. 

Whatever is good and lovely. 

Whatever is dainty and bright, 
Appears to her little Highness 

Her own indisputable right. 



64 EDITH. 



No gem so rare, nor so costly 
That she wonki not quietly take 

As part of her great possessions, 
And of it a plaything make, 

I saw her look at Niagara 

With a cool, indifferent air. 
As if she had seen falls grander, 

And didn't for these much care. 

Wonderful things she's been used to! 

That is evident every day; 
And nothing so much surprises 

Her as not to have her own w^ay. 

Dear little lily-like princess! 

Her strength in her helplessness lies. 
She captures our worldly wisdom 

By her looks so unworldly wise. 

O may she rule long and sweetly; 

Have happy returns of the day, 
And find that they who best govern 

Are they who first learn to obey. 



IN MEMOKIAM. 65 



IK MEMORIAM. 

Died— Suddenly, Sabbath evening, April 20, 1879, 
Miss Jennie Koberts. 

l'~\ID a strange, sweet exaltation thrill 
^ Her soul that fair last clay, as she drew 
So near to heaven? Albeit, still 

Unconscious, it was opening to her view. 

Did the light within, inform her eyes ? 

That she turned so oft to say 
To friends — farther off from Paradise — 

'' This is such a lovely, lovely day." 

That light, strange and tender, which has place 
In souls, but was ne'er on sea nor land. 

Faded with the eve a little space, 

Then to heaven brightened as Christ's hand 

Led her from death's valley, cold and dim, 
x\nd before the Father on His throne 
6 



66 IN MEMOEIAM. 

Her confessed who erst had confessed Him 
In the fleeting earth-life she had known. 

So she passed! A soul as sweet and shy 

As a violet which, unaware, 
Tells to every one who goeth by 

That a fragrant life is blooming there. 

Does the violet, when gathered, miss 
The twin flower blooming by her side ? 

For God's human flowers. He reserves the bliss 
Of again together blooming glorified. 

O, bereaved ones! if true love alway 
Seeks the happiness of the beloved — 

Of its own unmindful — ye can say, 

Witli a strong affection deeply proved, 

And the strength that trusting faith imparts, 
"Heaven is hers! We but count her gain!" 

Folding close within your wounded hearts 

Thoughts of her sweet peace, to heal them of 
their pain. 



THE MESSAGE OF THE SNOW. 67 



THE MESSAGE OF THE SHOW. 

THE spring Avilh sud, soft airs and rain 
Had wrought its miracles and gone ; 
Summer and fall, in long, bright train 
Of bloom and fruit and wavintj gfiain, 
Had passed, and sweeter treasures borne. 
" Is life," I moaned, " a fateful breath 
Forever drawn aAvay by death ? 
Is there no joy lives on and on? 

''The trees grieve over branches bare, 
And stretch them up with sobbing cry, 
But all in vain is moan or prayer, 
I only seem to hear or care. 
And helpless watch the leaden sky 
And hopeless think of other prayers — 
Then wonder if indeed God cares. 
Or — if — He's there, to make reply." 

Lo! while I wonder, the gray gloom, 
Which typified my heart's despair, 



68 THE MESSAGE OF THE SNOW. 

Breaks softly into starry bloom 
So pure, nor tint, nor faint perfume 
Stains these white blossoms of the air, 
Which spread, in prodigal excess 
Of nature's need, their loveliness 
Upon the earth. The branches bare 

That shivered erst in wintry air. 

No longer mourn their lush green leaves, 

And purer are the robes they wear 

Than fuller makes with utmost care. 

And softer far than weaver weaves. 

The humblest shrub, or meanest thing 

Now stands in white apparelling. 

And speaks — God's priest — to her who grieves. 

" O, troubled heart! Now wilt thou dare 

To longer hopeless mourn? Behold, 

What wondrous beauty budding where 

To thee was only empty air. 

Thou knowest naught! Joys manifold 

Shall bloom from out thy sorrow's night 

Changing its darkness into light, 

For know dear heart, that God is there." 



GUI BONO? 69 



GUI BOKO? 

^^ r 'M disappointed, tired of life, 

*- If this be all — to eat, to sleep, to rise 
And go about the same dnll round 

Of graceless tasks — to ask with sighs 
What means this riddle we call life? 

Perpetuated for what end? 
Its days like drops of water run 
In tedious, ceaseless repetend. 

"Nothing I do seems worth the while, 

As well the world without my deeds, 
Since every one can do the same 

They are as commonplace as weeds. 
Insipid is the cup I drink, 

And hateful is my common fate; 
My soul immortal fain would read 

The mysteries that palpitate 



70 CUI BONO? 

•' Upon the winds, upon the waves, 

And in the bosom of the sky; 
From longing soul and universe. 

Deep calls to deep, with endless cry. 
Wherefore that cry ? O, wherefore life ? 

Stranore orift! which none can tell about 
Until the breath of unseen death 

Shall blow the feeble taper out." 

Thus spoke the girl, impatient grown 

With self — with hard, dull circumstance 
That hedged her in from paths up which 

Her restless feet would fain advance. 
Her heart was sick with hope deferred, 

With purposes all unfulfilled. 
In the world's work-shop of great deeds 

There seemed no place for her to build. 

Sighing, she turned to her loved books. 
As daily sh e was wont to ( lo, 

In them to ilrown accusing thoughts 
Which held her empty life in view. 



cur BONO? 71 

Half unaware, her wancFriDg hand 

Was stayed upon a volume old, 
Whose truths unto her holden eyes 
Had been no more than fables told. 

But now God's Spirit in her soul 

To her remembrance once more brought 
The old, old story, read so oft, 

And henceforth with new meaning fraught. 
" My child/' He said, " from heaven once, 

The King's own son came down to earth 
And lived earth's life of petty toil. 

And set His royal seal of worth 

"On smallest deed or simplest task 

For love or homely duty done. 
And noAV shouldst thou but give a cup 

Of water to a thirsty one; 
Or, even take a little child 

Up in thy arms and win its smile. 
Thou still wouldst do a kingly thing, 

The thing that Christ thought worth His while. 



72 GUI BONO? 

" He helped the hungry, erring, sad, 

And daily taught — not how to solve 
Some problem fine, of how the stars 

Around some central sun revolve. 
But how each one hath sacred part 

In life's great common brotherhood; 
And they live best, who, like God's Christ 

Find their life's use in doing good." 



TO A FRIEND. 73 



TO A FRIEHD. 

Married ix April,. 

r\ APRIL! month of miracles, 

^ What wonders dost thou bring to pass! 

Leaves burgeon on the naked trees. 

Brown fields grow green with tender grass, 
Sweet violets, all purple clad, 

Steal gently forth and, one by one, 
Their hoods throw back from faces glad 

To meet the kisses of the sun. 

But sweeter miracle than these, 

O, month of violets! is wrouofht 
Within the garden of the heart, 

Where suddenly love comes unsought, 
And makes of life a summer day — 

Though April winds blow cold and chill — 
For true love blooms for aye and aye. 

And will not fade as violets will. 



74 LINES WRITTEN ON BIRCH BARK TO A FRIEND. 



LIHES WRITTEH OH BIRCH BARK TO A 
FRIEKD. 

PKOM a dryad of the wood 
^ Stolen was this tablet fine, 
'Twas her stylus that engraved 
Clearly each unfading line. 

Scarcely do I dare to write, 

In my clumsy, human way, 
These few words, lest I efface 

Tale or poem of some fay. 

But between my written lines 

Thou, with clearer eyes, may'st see 

Characters and occult signs 
Untranslatable by me. 

Thou may'st read what the wild wind — 
Rover from all lands and seas — 



LINES WRITTEN ON BIRCH BARK TO A FRIEND. 75 

Whispered when he told his love 
To the palpitating trees. 

Thou may'st find the mysteries 

Eevealed here, of all the wood, 
Happy secrets of the birds. 

Bees, and streamlets, understood 

And interpreted by none, 

Save the fairies and the heart 
That the world hath never won, 

Which must needs go oft apart 

From the busy haunts of men, 

To the woods and fields to find 
Eespite, from the "madding crowd" 

Healing, for its wounds unkind. 



©nnels. 



T 



1)1) 



PARADISE REGAIHED. 

HE circling hills of woods and clouds snow-white 
Held, in the golden hour of eventide. 
The lake by which I walked, and seemed to hide 
From view a world yet lovelier, whose light 
Streamed up behind their heights and made them glow, 
As wrapped in purest flame, and flung on high 
Bright flakes of glory 'gainst the pale blue sky, 
AVliich bridged with paths of fire the lake below. 
I felt sweet music that I could not hear, 
I saw a poem that I could not read, 
"AVhat place is this?" I cried! Lo, at my need 
Two lovers passed — 'twas Paradise! for clear 
I saw it shining in his happy eyes, 
I heard it murmured in her low replies. 

76 



ONWAED TO THE SEA. 77 



OHWABD TO THE SEA. 

ON that broad stream, which bears upon its breast 
A thousand isles, we sailed one summer day, 
And gazing forward, we were quick to say, 
" The green shores meet beyond and must arrest 
Our progress." Lo! while yet our lips confest 
Our fears, our good ship neared and found a way 
Safe and secure, to speed us on our quest. 
Some parted links in every barring chain 
We found alway — and sailing on and on, 
We came at last into the open main ; 
As birds on wing, all ways were ours — for, gone 
Was every limit, save the circling sky 
Which still encompassed as the days went by. 

II. 

Sailor upon life's stream ! dost thou descry 
Before thy way high rocks which seem to rise 
To thrust thee back? Trust not thy holden eyes, 
They cannot see! events shall by and by 
Their poor, short-sighted evidence deny: 
Give not thy heart to fears, thy lips to sighs, 



78 WEDDING-DAY. 

Nor falter back, and thou, in glad surprise, 
Shalt find ere long how God hath made reply 
Unto thy need, while yet thou couldst not see; 
Between the shores thy pathway lies secure, 
The stream flows onward to Eternity 
And fain shall carry thee into that pure, 
Broad ocean which God's love enspheres — a sky — 
Alway encompassing as time goes by. 

WEDDIHG-DAY. 

A friend's in ENGLAND. 

AKAINY April day! with fitful gleams 
Of sun, and fitful flight, from dripping eaves, 
Of chirping birds to trees whose tender leaves 
Scarce lovelier than summer's bloom we deem; 
So fair to winter-weary eyes they seem. 
But by that necromancy which retrieves 
The past, or future happiness perceives, 
I conquer time and space, as in a dream, 
And see no longer this wet April day; 
But one more fair, born under England's skies, 
And nearer by a fortnight to sweet May. 
But fair or dark, or in whatever guise 
It comes — within two hearts it is a day 
More bright than any out of Paradise. 
April 14, 1882. 



TO M. H. P. 79 



TO M. H. P. 



MISSIONARY TO CHINA. 



T^O mine own understanding did I lean 
^ When — having thee in mind — I said, one day 
'Twonkl be like death to go so far away 
That the whole earth would interpose, between 
My home and me, its dense opacity. 
It would be death — not life — so far sipart 
From all that feeds and satisfies the heart. 
So spake I: but, years later, seeing thee, 
I saw I had but uttered half a truth. 
Thy face revealed the rest — '' Whoso shall lose 
His life for Christ's dear sake, fJie same in sooth 
Shall find ity Some death pangs — then God renews 
The life! Thy happy eyes the secret told 
Of blessed gain — not loss — an hundred fold. 



80 TO A PANSY. 



TO A PAKSY. 

" Pansy— that's for thoughts." 

'^PHOU lovely thought of God! perfect and fair, 
^ Unflawed by sin! I cannot e'er repeat 
Thy tender meanings, thou dear paraclete; 
Be thou my messenger to-day, and bear 
Unto my friend — with whom I fain would share 
All good and pleasant thoughts — thy beauty sweet, 
Through which I feel, like unseen pulses, beat 
God's love and power. Then, wilt thou declare. 
In gentle breathings to my absent friend, 
My love, solicitude, and blessings more 
Than I can think or ask for? Let these blend 
AVith heaven's message, thou didst bear before; 
And so the deepest feelings of my heart — 
For which there are no words — shalt thou impart. 
















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